


Loud

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bottom Hinata, Camboy Hinata, Loud Sex, M/M, noisy rowdy boys, short and a little bit filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 04:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: Hinata is noisy. Kageyama doesn't totally hate it.**A wee extra, set somewhere in Routine





	Loud

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me I'm just...trying to sort through my fics that are currently on my tumblr only, so I'm probably going to be doing a few uploads in quick succession but sadly, to those of you who follow my tumblr, it's nothing new....yet

_“Oh—ah—yeah, right there, oh god yes, fuck me—fuck me harder, yeah—yeah_ — _come on_ , _I know you can do better than that—yeah, that’s it—oooh fuck, oh you feel so good—so big. Mmmm yes—yeah, fuck—more, give me that cock—”_

Kageyama squirms on the bed, and frowns at the laptop. On the screen, there is a woman on all fours, frantic with staged pleasure as a monstrous cock pounds into her—she croons and she moans, too loud and so incredibly _fake_ , working herself harder on the man within her.

 _So this is what he meant_ , Kageyama thinks, _when he said ‘research’._

Beside him, Hinata watches on, attention rapt, though not in the way Kageyama might expect—there is no blush to his cheeks nor blow to his eyes; only the keenest sense of awareness, and a frightening level of focus.

“Too much,” Kageyama says. “This is…way too much.”

Hinata drags his eyes from the screen to look Kageyama’s way.

“You think?” He asks, like it’s the most casual question in the world—like they aren’t talking about orgy porn, like there isn’t a woman slurping a waiting cock into her mouth and sucking wetly and noisily at it right before their very eyes.

Like they themselves aren’t so very, incredibly naked, wrapped up in the bed clothes in the dead of night, in Hinata’s too-big apartment with it’s too-thin walls and too-many neighbours.

“It sounds…fake,” Kageyama says.

“That’s ‘cuz it _is_ , stupid,” Hinata says. “But it’s got a tonne of views, so people must like it, right?”

Kageyama gives him a sceptical look. He isn’t all too sure people are into the sounds she’s making—she is _loud_ , so much so Kageyama worries Hinata’s neighbours might hear it (though they have…definitely heard worse)—and thinks it’s…maybe more likely they’re into the nakedness, the wet, swaying breasts and her cum-spattered skin, or else the close up shots of the dick drilling into her, pounding until the skin of her ass and thighs is red raw.

But what does Kageyama know? After all, Hinata is the professional.

“It’s all in the sounds,” Hinata tells him matter-of-factly, as he stretches to ramp up the volume. Kageyama stares at the expansive skin on his back, pale and dotted with freckles, tiny little perfect imperfections peppering his narrow shoulders. The muscles shift under his skin as he reaches, turns up the sound until the girl is screaming in the quiet apartment.

“ _Fuck yeah, you’re so—oooh you’re so good—harder, mmm god your cock is so thick. You gonna come? Yeah? Come on, fill me up.”_

“I really…don’t think it is.”

It’s doing nothing for him at _all_ , all the whining and moaning, the crooning, the words pouring from her mouth as the man slams into her one last time, then pulls out, and jerks himself off over her bowed spine. It’s uncomfortable, if anything; makes Kageyama squirm in the most unpleasant kind of way.

“Uh-huh,” Hinata says. He sits back again, and a new man replaces the first on the screen, pressing in sudden and deep to obscenely vocal praises. “It’s not so fun if everyone is silent—if nobody’s really feeling good, you know?”  

“That’s not feeling good,” Kageyama says. “That’s _acting_. And it sounds stupid.”

Hinata shrugs a shoulder, rolling to his side and propping himself up on an elbow. He watches Kageyama with soft eyes in the late hour, a tiny smile teasing at the edges of his mouth. Kageyama blinks down at him, and an awfully familiar well of warmth buds up within him.

“So, you don’t like it?” Hinata asks, blinking owlishly. “You don’t like when I talk dirty? When I talk loud?”

Kageyama wriggles beneath the covers, clenches his fingers into the sheets.

“That’s different,” he says. He can feel the heat of Hinata’s eyes boring into the side of his head, but he can’t bare to meet his gaze. Hinata shuffles over the mattress, wedging in closer, until Kageyama can feel the soft press of bed-warm skin against his own. He can see it, without even looking—Hinata’s stupid, smug little smile, bright teeth and mussed hair, mouth stretched wide in his amusement because he _knows_ : he knows just how much Kageyama likes when he is loud.

“I don’t sound _stupid_?”

“You _always_ sound stupid.”

Hinata lets out a petulant little huff—” _Bakageyama_ ,”—and smacks a fist to Kageyama’s shoulder, then pushes back the bed clothes and crawls lazily into his lap, shuffling until they are hip to hip, and face to face.  

Kageyama grinds his teeth. He shouldn’t react, not when Hinata is looking so self satisfied, but his hands move of their own accord, encircling Hinata’s narrow waist and holding him in place.

“Shame,” Hinata says, sighing loudly. He nips at Kageyama’s ear, bites at the lobe—Kageyama’s fingers tighten reflexively, digging into his skin—and laves his tongue languidly around it. “I _like_ being loud.”

Kageyama knows this, too. He knows just how loud Hinata likes to be, how loud he _can_ be—echoingly so, moaning enough for the whole city to hear, uninhibited and thoroughly unabashed. He knows just how loud Hinata likes to be with Kageyama inside of him, can hear his name falling from Hinata’s open lips, stuttering from his tongue as he spurs them both on.

Kageyama lets out a tiny, involuntary groan, and Hinata must feel his interest growing, because his smile grows smugger still and he shifts, rolling his hips down against Kageyama’s own.

“You like that?” He asks, quiet. Kageyama draws him in closer, hands slipping to press at the small of his back. “Huh?”

“Shut up,” Kageyama says, only for Hinata to laugh, soft and breathy in his ear.

“I… _really_ don’t think you want me to do that,” he says. Kageyama would very much like to argue, but Hinata is grinding himself so perfectly on his hardened cock, and it’s a little difficult to think through the motions.

“I think you want me to be like _her_ , right?” Hinata says. _No_ , Kageyama thinks; he doesn’t want Hinata to be like anybody other than _Hinata_ , but the other boy keeps on talking, a constant thrum of heavy, heady chatter, and with every long, slow drag of his length against Kageyama’s own, it becomes harder and harder to think, and impossible to interrupt.

Hinata stills, then, and stretches out over the bedding. He rummages through the loose sheets, humming under his breath and wiggling his hips as he does, until, with a triumphant little “ _a-ha!”_ , he lifts a bottle of lotion from the bedding, the plastic slick and shiny from their clumsy, fumbling hands.

He straddles Kageyama once more, and when Kageyama’s fingers reach for his waist to pull him back into place, he shakes his head, kneeling instead over Kageyama’s thighs, hovering above him.

He looks _good_ , just like that; all pink-cheeked and bitten lipped, eyes wickedly focused on Kageyama’s face even as his free hand skirts over himself, down the flat line of his stomach, to the jut of his hips, and finally to his cock, flushed red, leaking as he strokes languidly over himself.

He waves the bottle in front of Kageyama’s face, and pops the top open.

“Want me all wet for you, like her?”

“ _Hinata_ ,” Kageyama groans. His face is red, he knows so; it must be, with all the heat in his skin, shamefaced at Hinata’s brazen phrasing. It’s too much, already, all of Hinata’s _talking_ , but he is (annoyingly enough) absolutely right: Kageyama doesn’t want him to stop. At _all_.

“You can— _ah_ —you can fuck me—” Hinata stutters over his words as he slicks up a finger and slips it easily inside himself. “You can fuck me like—like they are.”   

Kageyama’s gaze drifts to the laptop screen. The video plays on, unassuming at the foot of the bed.

_“Fuck—yeah, just like that—ooh, harder, c’mon—fuck me—”_

“You want that?” Hinata asks. His breath hitches, jumping in his throat as he spreads himself—Kageyama can’t see his hole, nor the fingers buried in it, but he knows just what it is he’s doing the way Hinata’s hips jump and roll with each touch, and the way his every breath stutters out of his chest.

Kageyama swallows, mouth dry. The girl in the video is on her elbows and knees, bracing herself against every quick, sharp thrust pounding into her from behind, and all Kageyama can think about is how _good_ Hinata would like, just like that.

 _I want that_ , is what Kageyama wants to say—to take him like that, with Hinata spurring him, whining and moaning and _talking_ , telling him just what it is he wants. That’s what Kageyama _tries_ to say.

What comes out instead is a quiet, and raspy, and pitifully desperate, “want _you_.”

Hinata moans, _loud_ , and pulls his fingers out of himself, reaching instead for Kageyama’s length, where it is already weeping a thick line against his stomach. He curls a fist around it and pumps him slowly, agonisingly slowly, until Kageyama is lifting his trembling hips into the touch, searching for more.

“Want me to ride you?” Hinata asks. He scoots himself forward, until his knees are either side of Kageyama’s hips, and settles down, reaching back to hold Kageyama’s shaft between his slick cheeks. He is warm, and wet, and _enticingly_ close.

“Yes,” Kageyama gasps.

“Yeah? You’re gonna feel— _fuck_ , you’re gonna feel incredible,” Hinata breathes. “So—so good, Tobio.”

“C’mon,” Kageyama says. It’s supposed to be assertive, demanding, the kind of talk he knows Hinata likes—but all that comes out is a pleading, raspy whine.

“Love how thick you feel,” Hinata croons on. The very tips of Kageyama’s ears _boil_ , but his cock twitches all the same, pressed tight in the cleft of Hinata’s ass, held in place by the tips of wet, slippery fingers. “You’re gonna—gonna fill me so _good_.”

“Come _on_ , Hinata—”

“Can’t wait to have you in me—”

“Then hurry _up_ — _please_.”

Kageyama’s body shudders with every word that spills past Hinata’s lips. His touch is teasingly close to what Kageyama wants—he can feel him, soft and wet and open, rubbing up and down the length of his shaft as Hinata rocks his hips, and it’s almost too much—Kageyama isn’t sure how much longer he can wait, how much more taunting he can take.

“I’m not—” Kageyama chokes, gripping Hinata’s hips for leverage. “I won’t—won’t last—”

“S’okay,” Hinata assures him softly. It’s a swift break in character, a sharp contrast to his steady, sensual tone, but it lasts only a moment—in the next second, Hinata is raising himself up, up, until the head of Kageyama’s cock rests at his hole.

“Can’t wait to have you,” he croons, splaying his free palm on Kageyama’s stomach to steady himself.

“C’mon,” Kageyama pleads once more.

And finally, Hinata gives in.

He lowers himself steadily, taking Kageyama slowly, and Kageyama’s eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in the heat of Hinata’s body.

“ _Fuck_ —” Hinata whines—whimpers, almost—sinking down until he sits fully in Kageyama’s lap, panting gently. “Fuck, Tobio—you’re—you’re s-so _big_ —”

Hinata shifts, adjusting, and Kageyama hisses.

“Don’t,” he says, “don’t move. I’ll—”

“You wanna come?” Hinata asks. Kageyama grits his teeth. “Wanna—wanna feel you come in me,” Hinata gasps, arching his back and rolling his hips, dragging Kageyama’s length back out of him.

“Hin— _Hinata_ —”

“—fill me up,” Hinata pants. “I’m—I’m already so—so _full_ , Kageyama. Give me—give me more.”

Already, Kageyama is wound too tight. Hinata’s every move is expertly done, designed to drag the most painful pleasure from him, and coupled with the words spilling from him, it works like a charm.

Kageyama lurches forward, curls his arms around Hinata’s back and presses his face into Hinata’s shoulder. It’s impossible to _stop_ himself moving, to still the frantic hump of his hips as he chases his release, driving himself up as Hinata sinks back down onto him.

“Sho,” he rasps against Hinata’s skin. “Sho—gonna come.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hinata hisses, turning his face into Kageyama’s hair. “C’mon—come for me. _In_ me.”

“Hin—Hina—”

“So full,” Hinata moans, “give me— _aah—ha—_ give me more, ‘Yama. _f—fuck_ , like that—that’s it, c’mon, like that— _come_.”

And Kageyama can’t hold back any longer. Not with Hinata squeezing tight around him, grinding everything out of him, and not with his every active encouragement—spurring him to greater heights with each word that tumbles past his lips. He comes hard and he comes _fast_ , a quick, blinding release, one that jerks his hips and snaps his spine, stealing ragged, disjointed groans from his lungs.

He bites at Hinata’s collar, and digs his fingers into the skin of his back—he’ll leave marks, he’s sure, bright red welts or else scratches, where his blunt nails scrape into the pale flesh—and when he is done, he sinks back into the pillows, pulling Hinata bodily down with him as he does.

“Sorry,” he says, panting shallowly. “I didn’t—I _warned_ you I wouldn’t…wouldn’t last long.”

Hinata chuckles lowly, and sits upright. Kageyama hisses. He’s sensitive, where he is still buried in Hinata, but he doesn’t dare ask him to move. It’s not _fair_ , he thinks, to leave without finishing what they started.

“And I told _you_ ,” Hinata says, poking at his chest, “it’s _fine_. You need a minute?”

 _Several_ , Kageyama thinks, sucking a deep, full breath. Above him, Hinata sits haloed by the movie still playing on the screen, a pretty, smug smile on his pretty, smug face.

“It’s good, yeah?”

Kageyama squirms against the bedding. It _was_ good, incredibly so; and that in and of itself shouldn’t really be a problem, but…but it kind of _is_ . It’s a problem because Hinata looks so goddamn _good_ , sweat slick hair and rosy cheeks, plump, pink lips innocently round about the filthiest of words. He looks good, and—and it’s awful of him to think it, because Hinata makes a living off of sharing himself just like this, but Kageyama wants to keep at least _something_ to himself.

“Maybe…don’t, be so loud in shows,” Kageyama says. Hinata balks.

“ _Hah?_  Why not? You liked it, right?”

Kageyama says nothing. Hinata huffs, and crosses his arms, jostling in Kageyama’s lap.

“I gotta do _something_ different. People are gonna get _bored_ . What’s wrong with being louder, huh? Oi, _Bakageyama_ , look me—hey, look me in the eye and tell me that wasn’t the best fuck you’ve had yet.”

Kageyama doesn’t. He turns his head and rolls his eyes to the ceiling, to the walls, and even when Hinata’s nimble little fingers grab at his jaw and squish at his cheeks, yanking him this way and that— “stop—stop being such a— _Kageyamaaa_ , c’mon~”—he keeps his gaze resolutely away from Hinata’s own.

Honest truth, the problem isn’t that Kageyama _doesn’t_ like when Hinata talks loud, when Hinata talks dirty. The problem is that Kageyama likes it a _lot_ , and…well, it might be selfish, but Kageyama would like very, very much to be the only one who gets to hear it.


End file.
